Nothing Will Harm You
by CluelessKitten
Summary: Father is a monster. What does that make Gray? (A/B/O 'Verse - fem!Tim - companion piece to 'Look at Me')
1. Promise

_Nothing Will Harm You_

* * *

,

,

It happens sometimes, early in the morning before the sun rises. Anticipation pools like dread in Gray's stomach as he listens to the softly ticking wall clock, as he forces himself to breathe in and out. His eyes are closed, hands clammy. He lies on the bed, a fluffy comforter tucked into the sides.

Mother's breathing hitches.

It's one of those nights.

The bedroom door – the only bedroom in Jason's apartment – creaks. It's slow. Careful. Mindful of the bedroom's occupants, and maybe Gray could appreciate that if he wasn't already awake. The scent hits his nose like a comforting wave that unknots his muscles and lets him _breathe_.

He hears the lightest footsteps from one of the most heavily-built people he's met, and waits.

Mother starts moving. Struggling. Gray hears Jason shushing her gently as she shifts in his arms. He cracks open his eyes and only ever sees the same thing: Jason cradling Mother on the futon at the foot of Gray's bed. Holding her like she's something precious, smoothing her hair back as he comforts her. It's a strange thing, all silhouette from the city lights streaming through the curtain cracks, but his sight is excellent and he watches them from the bed.

Mother cries.

Sometimes, Mother screams and not even Jason can save her from the nightmares. She's safe, and still…

Father did this. Father destroyed Mother, Gray knows; he watched it happen in the records. He'd listened, he'd watched, and felt ill deep inside with a burning sensation in his eyes although he didn't know why.

Father is a monster.

What does that make Gray?

Eventually, Mother quietens, but Jason doesn't leave. Gray isn't sure if Jason ever leaves on nights like these. He stays in the bedroom, holding Mother, murmuring things in her ear Gray can't make out.

He breathes Jason's scent in, a weak attempt at calming himself.

Jason is here.

His scent envelopes both Mother and Gray, a defining mark for anyone else who comes close. A warning, almost, and the branding irritates him whenever he's reminded of it. But at night, just before the sun rises, when Jason calms her down, it is safety. It is protection.

Jason won't let the nightmares consume Mother.

Gray falls asleep. To Mother's soft whimpers, to Jason's steady presence.

The clock ticks on.

,

Jason snores when he sleeps. Not loudly, but he snores. He also lies on his stomach on the couch.

It doesn't look comfortable.

"Staring isn't polite, Gray," Mother reminds him from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mother."

His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he turns around and waddles towards the stove. There's a cookbook on the counter, open to a page on breakfast foods.

"How do you feel about pancakes?"

Jason makes pancakes, and it's not even Sunday. Why is Mother doing this? But she doesn't offer to cook often, so Gray bites his lip and thinks about it very carefully. "How about an omelet?"

Mother shrugs. She's tied her hair back in a ponytail and clipped back the short wisps at the front. "Omelet it is, then."

Gray exhales and nods. Mother is very present this morning, and he likes the way her forehead wrinkles slightly as she puts their meal together. There are hours in the day when her eyes mist over and he needs to startle her before she comes back. Sometimes, she doesn't recognize him right away.

It's fine. Really.

It's his fault, after all.

Gray sets the table up for three even though Jason won't wake up until noon. Mother doesn't know the specifics of what he does sand she doesn't ask, but they both know he hasn't given up being a vigilante. Mother has, though – which is a wonderful, practical decision – so he won't say anything.

The omelet is a little crisper than Jason makes them, but Gray eats all of it.

"I was thinking we could go out today," Mother says as they wash up the dishes. "Just the two of us."

Jason snores on the couch.

Gray nods slowly. "Where will we go?"

"Out," she says firmly. "It's not good to stay inside all the time. We'll go to the grocery, and we'll get some clothes, or go to a bookstore. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, Mother." Are there even any bookstores nearby?

"We could go to a café … somewhere I haven't been before. And I really need to get my hair cut soon."

"Yes, Mother."

"We can go watch a movie or take a walk in the park. I think there's one near here."

"Yes, Mother."

"Or maybe I should just bleach my hair and dye it purple."

"Ye – _Mother_?" Gray splutters. He almost mishandles the bowl but manages to save it before it reaches the floor. He looks at her sharply but gets taken aback by the mirth in her eyes.

"Just trying to see if you were listening." When he keeps staring at her, she says, gently, "I won't dye my hair orange, Gray, I swear. But we _are_ going outside. Do you have anywhere you might like to go or something to do?"

Mother is smiling at him, talking to him, teasing him, and he doesn't really care what they do if she can stay like this.

Gray swallows. "Bookstore." Jason's pitiful selection of reading materials have grown dull.

She nods thoughtfully. "Bookstore it is, then. We'll leave after lunch."

,

"Text me if you need anything," Jason says absently from the apartment's only armchair. His eyes are glued onto his laptop screen where he's working on what looks like a report. His eyes flicker towards Gray. "You smell nervous, kid. Worried about something?"

Gray tears his eyes away from the bedroom door. "What if I lose Mother in a crowd?"

"What?" Jason does a double-take. "Gray, your mom isn't a kid – she isn't a _little_ kid. You're not gonna lose her in a crowd."

He glares. "Mother is not _well_."

Jason's lips press together. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that. Trust me, though, if you'd seen her when we were in Gotham, you wouldn't be that worried about it. Thea can handle herself pretty well. But," he adds at Gray's quickly narrowing gaze, "If something does happen, you have my number. I'll come get you, wherever you are."

Gray settles his fists on his knees, tries looking calm and dignified as he regards his mother's adopted brother. "Promise?"

"Promise."

,

He doesn't lose Mother – although, that might more because of the death grip with which he'd held her hand than anything else.

"Gray," she says hesitantly as they cross a busy street later on. Gray holds a bag in his other hand – three books Mother allowed him to pick out of the bookshop. "I'm glad you want to stay close, but you're starting to cut off the circulation in my hand."

"Sorry."

"It's alright." Mother carefully adjusts their grip into something that must feel more comfortable to her. "I know this is hard for you, and it's probably not what you were thinking of when you started looking for me."

Gray didn't know what to expect when he left Father, but he nods slowly. They're walking at a leisurely pace, good for talking. Nothing like the all-business fast walk of the other pedestrians passing them by. He muses, "Did you ever love Father?"

It startles her, and for a moment Gray feels the squeeze of her hand around his before the pressure lessens. "Gray, I'm … I'm sorry. No. I could never – can never love your father."

She honestly seems sorry to tell him that.

"It's alright, Mother." It is, really. In fact, it makes everything so much easier.

After all, someday he will kill Father.

"You really need more winter clothes," Mother murmurs, almost to herself, as they pass by several shops. "You don't mind if we make a few detours, do you, Gray?"

He remembers their first trip to a clothes store: Mother had looked so distressed at having to pick out his clothes, and what would he know about any of it? Gray doesn't care if his clothes are yellow or blue or brown or orange but saying that had only fried her nerves. He has since then modified his set of responses towards the matter.

"I don't mind, Mother."

Mother's smile is sunshine to cloudy days.

Much, much later, he finds himself standing behind her as she sits in a salon chair while she specifies the cut she'd like to have.

"Your hair is fine," Gray insists. There are bags and bags and bags hanging from his hands, and he'd suggest going back to the apartment alone except Mother is so happy today and what if something happens to her now? "I saw women with hair longer than yours today."

"Thank you, Gray, but I've always preferred my hair shorter than this," Mother says. "You can sit down by the waiting area, you know." She eyes the bags sympathetically, but Gray shakes his head.

"You have such a cute brother," the hairstylist coos.

Gray nearly hisses. Mother is not his _sister_. He has half-sisters, and they have no love lost between them. Talia is just as bad as _Father_. He doesn't correct her, however, because both Jason and Mother have made it very clear that Alathea Drake having a nine-year-old child at age seventeen will only make problems for everyone involved.

He smiles at the deeply misguided young woman and mutters, "Thanks, Miss."

By the time they walk out of the salon, Mother's hair is several inches shorter and _layered_ , and they take a cab back to the apartment. The sky is already darkening, and it's best not to stay out too late. There are bags of groceries, clothes, and books in their arms, and stumbling through the front door and dumping everything on the table becomes a strange sort of relief.

The smell of Jason's lasagna hits him late, and he almost melts before Mother nudges him to help her put everything away.

"Busy day?"

Gray turns towards Jason's voice to see him looking curiously at some of their purchases before gathering up the appropriate ones and spiriting them off to the bathroom shelves. When he returns, he ruffles Mother's hair fondly. Gray reminds himself to relax – it's only Jason.

If anyone ever dares raise a hand against Mother, Gray will tear their throat out with his _teeth_.

"Fairly so," Gray says absently as Mother pushes his hand off with a laugh. Her blow-dried hair reaches only an inch or two past her shoulders now. Gray will miss the tickle of the ends when they hug.

"It looks good."

"Thanks."

The shine in Mother's eyes are not from tears. Her cheeks are still pink from their small outing. She stands under the warm artificial light with Jason, and Gray…

He pushes himself into her side and lets her warmth thaw his insides. He feels her hand on his head, not ruffling or pushing him away, just there. He hears her say his name as he presses his face into her sweater.

She still smells a bit like the salon.

Gray purses his lips and tries not to feel stranded. How can he find her in a crowd if he's never known her scent? He needs to stay near her. Mother is _delicate_. Gray watched Mother break before she met Jason. She almost _died_ before she met Jason.

Gray almost let Mother die.

What good is he if he can't take care of his own mother?

,

"Gray?"

Jason's startled voice jerks him out of his stupor. Gray composes himself quickly on the armchair, trying very hard not to look like he wasn't just fighting off sleep.

"What are you doing up? It's late; are you sick?" Jason walks up to him, smelling clean from his shower a few minutes ago, and makes to try and take his temperature with the back of his hand.

"I am not sick." Gray bats away his hand irately. " _Jason_."

"Well, what are you doing out of bed, then?"

It's a good question, a very good question his body screams at him. Mother has gotten a strange idea in her head to put Gray on a regular sleep schedule that encompasses eight hours of the night, every night, and her futon is placed along the very foot of his bed. Getting out of the bedroom without waking her was almost a nightmare in itself, full of hesitant movements and held breaths.

The door's squeaking hinges never seemed so _loud_.

Jason's arms are folded, Gray is sleepy but not tired, and he clenches his fists hard enough to hurt.

"Mother screams in her sleep."

It's all he needs to say for Jason to soften his stance. The guardedness goes down, and it's too fast, so fast Gray almost sneers at how trusting the man is. But it's what he's looking for, what he needs for this. It's a difference between Jason and Father – one of many. It's a difference that lets him speak honestly.

Gray breathes in deep, breathing in air and Jason, and bites the inside of his cheek. His heart beats fast like a rabbit, and he feels just as small.

Jason sits down on the couch as he draws his palm down his face. With his other hand, he pats the space beside him, and Gray rises to settle there instead. He sits there beside Jason and curls up to hug his knees.

Jason waits.

"I wake when the nightmares begin," Gray confesses. His eyes cling resolutely to their reflection on the TV screen. "I … hear her. I listen, until she stops. You…" He swallows. "You calm her down. Please, tell me how I can help Mother." He whispers, "Please."

Jason stares at Gray now, something tired and thoughtful and deeply sympathetic etched onto his face.

"Gray," he says, hesitantly. "This is going to take time. Your mom … it's not easy."

"I will protect her from Father. You and I."

"We will, Gray, we will… but it's not that simple, either."

Gray stares at Jason; the man sighs.

"It's not just your old man who messed her up. It's … it's a lot of things. She became Robin when she was eleven, and her life's gone to complete shit – er, down the drain since then.'' Jason spreads his hands as if accepting a heavy weight. "I won't pretend to know everything that's gone on in her life before and after she turned into Robin, but I've heard some things. There're some records, too; it's not too hard to put two and two together. Your mom hasn't had an easy life – and I'll be honest, I wasn't making things any better for a long time there.

"Almost everyone she ever loved died, Gray. That's not something a lot of people can walk away from unscathed, Omega or not. She's had a breakdown building up for years. Dick – our oldest adopted brother died a few months back, and – I knew he was important to her, but she kinda just _stopped_ after his death. I don't think she could take it anymore." Softer, he says, "Your mom's an extraordinary person, but at the end of the day? She's still a kid. You gotta remember that.

"I'm not saying what your dad did wasn't terrible, or that it wasn't probably one of the things that threw her over the edge, but there are a lot of other traumas Thea needs to work through, too. It's just … it'll take time."

"But she'll get better?"

"Of course," Jason says, earnestly. "If I thought I wasn't helping her, and she wanted to leave, then I'd give her to someone who can." Cautiously, he puts his hand on Gray's shoulder. "I know you want to help her, Gray, but you already are."

How can he say that when he feels so useless?

"She's gotten more lively around you, you know. Meeting you … it changed her – not in a bad way. She's more determined than she was before, and I don't know if you see it, but she loves you so damn much. I know it hurts seeing her this way, but you're just gonna have to have a lot of patience with her. And one day, we might need to accept that she might always be a little … off."

Gray glares at Jason. "Why didn't you help her back then?"

"I had my own issues, Gray. A lot of them ended up with me tearing through Gotham in a homicidal rage – _not_ something anyone wanted to be around. But I'll tell you this: when I first got your mom, she could barely look at me, or talk at all. That's a far cry from now, and I know she's trying. She tries her best to come back to us."

Gray's eyes burn. "I _hate_ Father."

"Well, for what it's worth, I hate him, too. But you can't focus on that – right now, you've got your mom. She needs you."

When Gray doesn't reply, Jason leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. He doesn't make him get off the couch or go to bed, so Gray sits there and tries not to think.

,

Mother never smells like anything, and it's somewhat nerve-wracking to have to wait and see if or when the nightmares start without being able to smell any sort of discernible change in the air. Gray watches from the doorway, letting soft light spill into the darkness. He barely moves, even when he smells-hears- _feels_ Jason's approach.

"Go to bed, Gray." He sounds tired, and he is. Gray knows it in his scent, in the lines on his face. Jason is exhausted. "Or – you can stay on the couch, if you like."

"No," he says flatly, even as he heads on into the bedroom. He tacks on, belatedly, "Thanks."

Jason watches Gray shuffle inside, but uncertainty enters his scent when he goes down on the futon and settles against Mother's side. Her breath hitches from the unexpected contact, and she tenses. She draws in a short, sharp breath, and he feels her heart beat faster.

Concerned, Jason walks into the bedroom as well. He sits on the edge of the futon to gently smooth her hair back. "You're okay, Thea," he murmurs, the words so soft they almost blend together. His voice is deep and gentle, though, and Gray strains his ears to hear him better. "You're safe."

Gray cuddles Mother – a word he's learned from her – and listens to his litany or reassurances. There's a roughness about it as if brimming with emotion which is strange, but it's Jason and the smell is Jason, and in the darkness of this room, Gray holds on to it as hard as he clings to Mother.

He closes his eyes, his head cushioned by her shoulder. One of his hands reach over and across Mother, to cautiously clutch Jason's loose shirt – the kind of shirt he tends to wear at night. When no reprimand comes, he grips the small section of cloth more securely.

Gray falls asleep.

There are no nightmares.

,

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	2. Spring Cleaning

_Nothing Will Harm You_

* * *

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"Holy shit, Gray, what the hell did you do to this place?"

Jason stands at the doorway of Thea's old apartment, staring at the overturned furniture, smelling the overwhelming scent of dead flower, and a certain chill creeps under his skin. It's stupid: it's not like anyone died here – not that Thea mentioned, anyway – and they're just here to pick up some of Thea's things, clean up the place a bit, and see if the apartment as a whole might still be salvageable. From what little he can see from the doorway alone, however, it all just seems like a lost cause already. His current place might be too small to reasonably house the three of them forever, and his overall income ends up pretty slim, but they certainly don't have to live here.

"You know what, screw the lease," Jason says, hanging back by the entrance. The vantage point is somewhat limited, and he leans against the doorway as he surveys the interior. The furniture is apparently not just overturned but, in many cases, broken in some way, and– "Kid, did you claw into the plaster?"

What kind of fucking frenzy did Gray work himself into while he waited for his mom? He doesn't even look ashamed, merely glancing at the mentioned marks on the wall. He gives a flat 'yes' and follows after Thea, helping her put some of the furniture upright.

The smell of dead flowers is almost overwhelming when Jason does walk into the apartment, and he fights down the urge to choke or cough.

He fails.

Thea sends him sympathetic glances before walking into the kitchen and producing a roll of black, plastic trash bags.

Jason remembers being so full of rage, he destroyed whatever he could justify deserved it. He never had to pick up after himself, though, and as he helps Thea and Gray clean the mess, he wonders what it was like for the police and … well, everyone uninvolved in his war against Batman. It's not something he's put too much thought into before – although he's given some consideration towards the victims' families once he calmed down – but he never imagined someone mopping up the bloodstains his messier kills had a tendency of leaving behind, or maybe even just the fact that someone had to clean up the debris from the fights. Probably multiple someones, thinking back on the wreckage the Red Hood and Batman can wreak.

Thea opens the walk-in closet and audibly breathes out a sigh of relief upon seeing everything inside relatively intact.

"Gray, why did you destroy your mother's apartment?" Jason asks quietly from where he stands by the dresser. "I mean, you were waiting for her. Did you think she would be happy with coming back to … this?"

Gray shrugs. Thea digs through her closet and puts some things in the duffel bag she has slung over shoulder, but he knows she's listening.

"Were you angry?" he presses. "Afraid? Worried?"

"Yes."

"You know you can't just tear things up when she doesn't come home for a while, right?" It's pretty rich of him to be saying this at all, but Jason can see problems in the near-future if this isn't addressed at some point. "Throwing tantrums like these doesn't help anyone."

Gray looks at him then, like he's said something incredibly stupid. With his flattest and yet somehow most condescending voice, he says, simply, "I know."

Jason flicks the kid's nose. He clears some more of the floor or petals and abused furniture, opening the windows as he goes by. It helps air out the stuffiness in the apartment some, but not entirely. The flower scent at least lessens.

After a couple repetitions of throwing out the garbage bags into the dumpster outside, he notices Gray just … standing in the middle of the bedroom. There's a flower petal in his hand, and he stares at it hard like he's trying to figure something out; eyebrows furrowed and everything. Thea's moved on to the spare bedroom she'd converted into a small work area, leaving him alone with Jason. She couldn't meet Gray's eyes when she left, and Jason… Jason has no idea what to do with that.

"You alright, kid?"

"When she first disappeared, I tried ... I tried to find her," he admits, and Jason pauses a moment before going back to removing books off the shelf and piling them haphazardly in a cardboard box. He'll organize it later; for now, he listens.

"I searched the streets for days." Gray's eyes are distant, his voice flat and dead. "It wasn't until I took to the rooftops that I found her blood. Spilled. There was so much. I thought perhaps…"

Jason remembers it: the blood on his hands, the wrongness of not smelling any sort of scent, just the feeling of his own suppressed panic.

Quietly, busily, he waits.

"I couldn't find a – body. Moreover, there was no record of her being admitted to any hospital or clinic I could find, but the blood loss was too much for her to survive on her own, and without medical treatment." Gray's eyes close. "Father always praised Mother's intelligence, so it was possible she took refuge elsewhere and..."

Jason runs a dusty hand through his hair. He regards his young nephew – so much younger than he looks and acts – and asks him, "You weren't waiting for her to come back, were you?"

Gray stares sat the petal. It falls from his hand, fluttering through the air before landing on the floor and drab sunlight filters through the open windows. A little boy standing among dust, small debris, and dry petals. The room lies dead all around him, and the green of his downcast eyes seem to glow in the midst of it.

"Gray, why did you come here?"

"Where else could I have gone? Father is…" His voice fades, and he breathes in deep. "You've met them; you know my sister. They are not kind people."

Jason nods. "That, they are not."

"Father has not found me worthy yet of the name 'al Ghul'. He merely called me gray for the pallor of my skin – he promised he would give me a new one when the time came."

Jason finishes sweeping the rest of petals into the garbage bag. He ties it up and puts it in a corner for later. "You don't need his family title – it probably ain't even his real one. We'll think of a cover story for you, and you can pick whatever you want – whether it includes your mom's surname or something else entirely."

Gray visibly pauses before shaking his head and walking towards a wall. It holds the deepest scratch marks, and he runs his fingers over it. "I thought she was dead," he murmurs softly, "And I didn't know what to do or where to go. Father holds no love for me; who else could, if Mother died?"

Gray's scent is filled with so much sadness that Jason abandons his currently minimal effort to clean and puts his hand on his shoulder. It's awkward, and he's not the person Gray needs this from, but he's the one here with him now and damn if he isn't going to do something. Thea can't do this on her own, and Jason – Jason knows.

A small prickle at the back of his neck makes him turn around to see Thea standing a little behind the open doorway. Her expression is unreadable, which doesn't always bode well, but Jason nods to her.

She walks towards them, slowly closing the space between, and she kneels in front of Gray. She takes his hands in hers. Gray's eyes look at it, her hands encasing his own, and Jason squeezes his shoulder gently.

"I will admit," Thea says slowly, carefully, "That there are a lot of awful people living in the world. You're gonna meet them, and they'll hurt you or use you, and sometimes you'll need to work with them anyway. But there are good people, too, who'll help you if you let them. They're hard to find, and sometimes you don't figure it out until the end, but they're there. Your – your dad and I aren't the only people who can love you or care about you."

Gray bites his lip. Barely a whisper, he mouths, "Who are they?"

Jason leans down and ruffles the hair on his dark little head. "They're called friends."

"You'll meet them, Gray," Thea says, her voice impossibly soft and tender. "Someday, you're going to make the best of friends and they'll stand by you no matter what, whether it's today or tomorrow or ten years down the road. So, never think that no one else can love you. You just … haven't met the right people yet.

"Promise me that if something happens to me, you won't hide yourself away somewhere and – and just die there."

"Mother–"

"Promise me… please. Even now, I'm not the only one who loves you, anymore."

Jason clears his throat. "Your mom's right, Gray. I care about you, too."

Gray looks at him then, his eerily green eyes wide and ... tearful. He stares at Jason as if searching for deception or truth. Whatever he sees, when he looks at Thea again, he whispers, "Promise."

Then, he … throws himself at them. Half at Thea, and half at Jason's leg. Jason goes down on one knee and wraps his arms around both of them. Around his Pack. He breathes in deep, and – notes a soft, slightly sweet scent he can barely smell. It's new and right, and he squeezes them closer to him for it.

It's a sign. It's a good sign.

He just hopes Thea sees it that way, too.

They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until Thea pulls away gently.

"I've packed my things," she says and stands. She doesn't let go of Gray's hands yet. "I'll have the apartment inspected at a later time and pay for the damages, but we can leave for now."

"Oh, thank God. You up for a chili dog, Gray?"

It's kind of funny, seeing the kid try to temper his expression even though the excitement bleeds into his scent anyway. Jason grins and starts picking up the last garbage bags to throw out. Thea, on the other hand, wears her backpack, now bulging with who knows what, and holds several boxes of things piled high in her arms; Gray picks up the duffel bag and looks the slightest bit put out at his lack of responsibility. Jason hands him one of the garbage bags.

"I think I can safely say that none of us want to live here," Thea starts, to which Jason can't entirely stop his emphatic agreements.

"Does this mean you'll start looking for a new apartment then, Mother?"

Jason and Thea glance at each other, uncertainty holding their gazes before she looks back down at her son. "Yes, Gray. Jason and I will start looking for an apartment we can afford together."

'Afford together' is really the key phrase. If Thea wanted an entire house and property, she'd easily be able to afford one, but Jason put his foot down a few nights ago when they'd originally talked about it between themselves. He's not proud of it, but it hurts him that he can't appropriately provide for Thea and Gray in this area. He's the Alpha of their Pack: he's supposed to be the one providing basic necessities. As it is, he can't afford a much better place than what he'd already rented out for himself, along with the additional expenses of keeping up his nightly activities.

They're away from the apartment building when Gray speaks up again.

"And Jason is coming with us?"

Thea blinks. "Of course. Jason is a part of our Pack."

Jason laughs, nudging Gray playfully. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, you rascal."

Gray nods, almost to himself. "So, Pack … doesn't leave each other?"

"Ideally, no," Thea says hesitantly after a panicked glance towards Jason, to which he'd nodded encouragingly. "But sometimes, because of certain situations, they have to be apart for a while."

"But not forever?"

"Not forever," Jason confirms when Thea falters. "Your family, your Pack – they'll always come back to you."

"Even if it takes a while," Thea finishes with a crooked grin and a shared glance with Jason. She elbows him, and he pushes back playfully.

"Even if it takes a while," he agrees.

,

"Not that thin, Gray."

Jason carefully guides the kitchen knife held in Gray's hand to a certain width on a carrot they'll need for dinner. The kid's got a good handle on the knife, but the speed he prefers using to chop the vegetable makes the sizes clumsier and turns into a slight hazard for the nearby fingers holding the carrot still. "Just slice it – like that."

"Gray, can you come here?" Thea calls from the living room area. "There's something I want to show you."

Gray hesitates, but Jason jerks his head towards Thea. "It's alright, I'll finish up here."

He doesn't come back. Later, when Jason walks out of the kitchen area, he finds them huddle up together on the couch looking through an album. A medium-sized cardboard box sits on the coffee table, several of its contents unpacked, including a professional, if slightly dated-looking camera.

"Jason." Thea waves him over, and he drops down on the other end of the couch, arm draping over the back as he looks over.

The album's pages are filled with a mix of candid and posed shots of – a lot of people, actually. Jason sees a few of Superboy and Impulse, a handful of the Gotham skyline… A lot of Bruce, Dick, and Alfred. They're pretty good and probably worth a fortune if she ever decides to sell them off somewhere: she's got the entire family from normal shots of everyday activities to candid photos featuring their night life.

"Geez, you should've become a photographer." Jason whistles appreciatively at a particular shot of Batman and Nightwing perching near stone gargoyles. It's dark, at an angle, but the city lights illuminate them just right and it's just – it's Gotham. Shadowy, polluted, and beautiful.

She inclines her head. "I could have been."

"Or a private investigator."

"Now that's more my style," she laughs.

"They are skillful, Mother," Gray says hesitantly.

"Thank you, Gray." She strokes his hair gently, turning a page with her other hand. "I was doing this for a long time – longer than Batman knew about me – but most of these people are my friends now. See that guy?" She points to a picture of Superboy laughing. "That's Kon. He's one of my best friends. And he–" she points at a more formal picture of B "–is your grandfather. His name is Bruce."

Jason nods at the shot of Damian napping with a dog. "And that brat over there is your nephew-slash-uncle."

Gray nods, his eyes trained on the album pages as if memorizing every detail of the people's frozen smiles. He looks up at them uncertainly. "They are … Pack?"

"Not necessarily," Jason says slowly. "You're sort of related, but Pack is more than blood ties or technicalities. They're about relationships, so … you can be Pack, but unless you meet them, you'll never find out for sure."

Thea's thumb traces gently over the faces on the photographs. "We have an open invitation to the Manor," she murmurs. "We should visit sometime."

That's an idea. "Probably a good idea to move into a new place first," Jason says, looking pointedly at the piled-up boxes on the floor around them.

She nods, her eyes watching Gray carefully turn the pages of the album to see more of his mom's life. Thea hesitates, but eventually, she takes in a deep breath. "Gray. If something happens to me … I don't want you to go back to your father. Go to Jason – and if not him, then Bruce. They'll take care of you." Her voice cuts off sharply before she continues. "Do you understand?"

Gray's mouth opens, and he looks almost as if he might refute the idea of anything happening to Thea, but he stops. Instead, when he finally speaks, he says, "Yes, Mother."

Jason puts his arm around them and moves closer. "Nothing's gonna happen to either of you. Not on my watch. In fact," he adds, reaching forward to pick up Thea's camera off the coffee table, "Why don't we take a picture?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Thea asks blankly. Gray just looks at him curiously.

"It's gonna be our first record as a Pack. We're gonna look back on this picture, and all the others we'll take in the future, and we'll remember the moments they were in. They'll be the record of our history together." He smiles hopefully at their still-doubting faces. "What do you say?"

"We've got dust in our hair," Thea points out quietly, although she takes the camera from Jason. She turns it on, fiddling with the settings and scope.

"It's a picture of us – our first one." He shrugs. "Who cares if it's not perfect?"

Thea's mouth twitches. "Who, indeed," she murmurs. A press of her finger triggers the camera and the flash goes off. She frowns, adjusting the settings for another moment before finally holding it out, facing it towards them. "Gray, look up." Hesitantly, she adds, "You can smile if you want to."

"Should I?"

"People usually smile for pictures, yeah," Jason says, awkwardly, when Thea fails to answer right away. "Especially when they're posing for it."

Gray's eyes flicker between Jason and Thea before going back to the camera. "Okay."

"Alright," Thea says, her hand still holding out the camera as she leans towards them. "Ready? One…"

Jason leans down, nearer to Gray, an easy smile settling on his lips.

"Two…"

He lightly puts a hand on each of their shoulders and hugs them close. He doesn't know how Thea knows they all fit in the frame, but he trusts her camera skills.

"Three."

The camera clicks and whirs, devoid of its flash. It's almost anticlimactic, but Jason carefully lets go of his Pack almost immediately. He still doesn't know whether or not they're too fond of physical contact – at least, when it comes from him – despite his sudden fit of clinginess for the photograph.

Something in Gray must be rubbing off on him.

"Well, look at that." Thea shows them the picture, displayed on the small camera screen. It's an interesting shot: Jason is overtly cheerful, Thea has a tentative, somewhat awkward smile, and while Gray isn't smiling at all, he does stare rather intently at the camera. They look tired from their earlier trip to Thea's apartment, and the angle isn't the best, but it's them. "It came out pretty good after all."

She pauses, eyes flickering to her son. "Would you like a copy, Gray?"

"Yes." Gray's eyes stay glued to the picture, as if it's a particularly fascinating thing. "Please."

Jason's growing fond of ruffling Gray's hair, and he does it again, smirking at the way he irately tries fixing it. "There's gonna be plenty more of that, kid."

"Of what?" Thea regards the two of them fondly. "The hair mussing or the pictures?"

Jason laughs. "Both."

Gray huffs, but his scent lacks any actual anger, and his movements are softer. It's a far cry from when he first came to them, and Jason breathes in and tries letting his scent envelope his Pack, wants it to stick on them for the world to know that they're his - to care for, to support and protect.

To love.

God help anyone who messes with that.

,

,


	3. Morality

_Nothing Will Harm You_

* * *

 **Possible Trigger Warning** : Gray's more violent side is explored in this chapter.

-Animal cruelty

-Hints of self harm

-Slightly graphic imagery

* * *

,

,

,

There are pigeons on the roof today.

Gray sits with his back against the railing. He holds one of the birds firmly in his palms, had snatched it right off its feet after staring a second too long. It pecks and coos at him in distress. The skin on his hands are irritated from the times it's succeeded in nipping at his skin.

Slowly, he squeezes.

He wonders if Mother has noticed his absence in their tiny little apartment yet. Her eyes had that familiar faraway look this morning when he left her side, and there are things she doesn't quite notice on days like these.

Father's eyes were never so distracted. When he was with Gray, he was present and formidable. Expectant. Dangerous when crossed or challenged.

Mother doesn't seem to expect anything from him. Gray isn't entirely sure what to do with that. It's been two months, and he still doesn't know what to do about anything. Jason tells him not to worry, Mother tries not to make him worried, but he _is_ and he doesn't want to stop.

Who doesn't worry about their own mother?

The bird is dead. Gray tosses it aside.

His hands bleed sluggishly, red smudged on his palms and fingers.

The sun's position tells him that it's closer to afternoon now. He shouldn't have left Mother for so long, but up on the rooftop, it doesn't seem to matter very much. Like their life downstairs in a tiny, cramped apartment is a different life entirely, like something from a book he hasn't read until the end yet. Or maybe it's the roof that's its own world, and he runs his fingers over the back of one hand, smearing the blood across his skin.

The door to the rooftop swings open, protesting loudly with each begrudging movement.

"Gray?"

It's his mother. She looks confused. Distant, but confused. And worried.

She says, "what are you doing out here?"

He's quiet. After a moment, she walks towards him and sits down cross-legged. Gray watches her, not entirely sure what to do. What to say.

He hides his hands in his sweater pockets.

The smile she tries to give doesn't quite work, but it's something. "Feeling cooped up? We can go out, if you want."

"No…" He hesitates, shakes his head. "No, thanks." He nudges her until she wraps her arm around him so he can press into her side. Mother smells … faintly sweet these days, and he breathes in deep to clear his head.

"Something on your mind?"

When he doesn't reply, she simply strokes his hair and leans into him. This might be what Mother sometimes vaguely calls 'one of _those_ days'. The sky is as gray as his name, and there's a coolness in the afternoon air that makes it feel like early morning.

Gray closes his eyes.

He doesn't know how long they sit there together, alone. And when she kisses the top of his head and murmurs, swiftly, "I love you", his throat clogs up until all he can do is bury his face into her. Gray's eyes burn, but maybe if no one can see it, then the weakness – just a moment of it – can be forgivable.

Mother needs him to be strong.

His hands slip out of the pockets to wrap his arms around her, and he winces at the aching pain but does not stop. Mother does not push him away even though he knows that she knows he's getting blood on her sweater. She holds him closer, squeezing gently and telling him again that she loves him.

"Father knows where we are," slips out of Gray like a whispered confession.

For a moment, Mother doesn't move or breathe. Maybe she can't, and guilt immediately rushes in but before he can apologize, she hugs him even more fiercely than before.

Carefully, she says, "your father knows a lot of things."

But there are also things he doesn't know. There are things he doesn't understand.

Gray wonders sometimes, if Ra's al Ghul knew what he was doing when he engineered himself a son. Wonders if he could even guess at the time what the effects of mixing water from the Lazarus Pit into the rapidly degenerating fetus might do to whatever creature might form.

Because Gray _knew_ his father with a terrible certainty the moment he was born. Ra's al Ghul was etched deep into him in a way Gray can't fully understand and isn't sure he wants to. He knows when Father is near, and he knows when he lies. From the moment he was born, Gray was never a fussy child. He never did care for much, not even the truth.

But he was curious.

Not that motherhood was important to his life then, but he knew the Heretic. He knew Talia. And through them and Father's disappointed tales, Gray knew of Damian. Even when Father's teachings were all he knew about life – even the falsehoods the man imparted were things to learn from – there had been a niggling suspicion at the back of his mind that only grew as the days passed.

Why did Damian choose to leave? There were a few possibilities, but all of them predicated on the assumption that Damian was either an idiot – which Gray doubted, or the boy would never have survived Father's training – or that Batman was … _better_ somehow.

Then, Gray found the truth. And he left. Not quietly or without bloodshed, but Father couldn't stop him.

Father would never be able to stop him.

"Gray, did you kill that pigeon?" Mother says, effectively shattering his train of thought.

He blinks but doesn't move, not even to turn his head and look at what he knew she was asking about. They might be sitting on the roof, and Mother can hardly be called soft, but he is … comfortable. "Yes."

"Can I ask why?"

He murmurs, softly, "I don't know."

Gray can feel her sigh before she asks, "Is it why your hands are all torn up?"

He does look down at his hands then, where they're safely hidden in his jacket pockets, and when he looks up, he says almost blankly, "They're not that bad."

Still, Mother gently takes them out - he ignores the twinges of pain again; it's hardly a significant thing - and gives them a quick scan. "They look bad enough to me. Come on, why don't we clean them up?"

"It will heal on its own," Gray insists. But she stands, and he stands with her. "It's fine, Mother."

For a moment, she almost looks … sharp, but then it disappears as quickly as it came. "We're disinfecting it and putting band-aids."

"But _why_?"

She opens the door for him and lets him through first. "Because I don't want it to get infected or worse somehow, okay? I don't know what kind of training your … _father_ taught you, but here, we take care of our injuries properly."

There's something a bit overly fascinating about the way she practically spits out the word 'father'. Their dislike of the man is one of the few things the three of them share – one of the few things Gray can understand – and it is a commonality he greatly appreciates. How awkward, how _foolish_ it would be, if Mother suddenly did fall in love with Father.

But she's smarter than that.

"Okay," he says, slipping his bloody hand into hers, idly noting the sting and that familiar, slick feeling of drying blood on his skin. She hesitates for just a moment, but he looks at her quietly and whatever it is, she thinks better of it. They walk down the stairs hand in hand and the thought of being tended to by Mother chases away some of Gray's darker thoughts.

Just as Thea is reaching for their apartment key, the front door bursts open with Jason looking flustered and still in the process of putting half his jacket on. He freezes when he sees them, and his mouth opens, but Mother says, "Rooftop", before he can say anything.

His eyes flicker to Gray. "Your hands are bleeding."

Gray tilts his head just a tiny bit sideways, giving Jason an even look. He saw the gesture on TV a few nights ago and he wants to try it out. "I am aware of that, yes."

He's getting better at body language all the time.

Mother only shakes her head when Jason raises one of his eyebrows at her. Small motions that communicate so much, and Gray knows he must learn these little nuances.

"Nothing bad happened," she says dismissively, but also adds, "We can talk about it later. Come on, Gray."

Jason nods, sliding his jacket off and onto the back of the couch before he collapses on the cushions. His eyes close, and it is one of the many talents of Jason Peter Todd to fall asleep in the span of two seconds. Gray can't help but stare at him a little even as Mother gently nudges him into the bathroom where they keep the first aid kit.

"He's always tired these days," Gray murmurs from his seat on the closed toilet lid. The small cuts where the bird pecked especially deep smart when Mother wipes them off with antiseptic. Washing his hands of the usual contaminants hadn't been too bad, but he's starting to regret how he'd held the pigeon.

"It's been a long week, and one of his ribs were fractured a few nights ago," Mother says quietly. "How long were you on the roof? Can you feel if anything got inside?"

He bites his lip uncertainly, watching as she starts taking out band-aids from the box. "It's fine... You've never told me about Jason's injuries."

She shrugs, but there's an unhappy curve to her lips that frustrates Gray. "It's … for us, it's just normal to get these things; we've gotten injured worse plenty of times over the years, and we didn't always have people around to help us." Her eyes glaze over slightly again, but her hands never falter in tending to his hands. "Jason and I are used to getting badly injured. It's not something we want to worry you over."

Gray shakes his head sharply. "I still need to know!"

Mother smiles at him then. It's something knowing, and it irritates him almost as much as the unhappiness did. "We feel a lot like that about you, too. But," she continues soberly, "it's our job to protect you, not the other way around, Gray."

"Is that why you won't allow me to accompany Jason on his patrols?" he asks testily. "Even though I am more than capable of taking care of myself?"

She pats his knee gently and stands. "It's exactly why I won't let you do that – along with maybe a half dozen other reasons."

"Like what?" He hops off the toilet seat and follows Mother into the bedroom so as not to disturb Jason. She closes the door behind him and navigates the cluttered floor. There are boxes of Mother's things that she's reluctant to unpack as she and Jason have already begun apartment hunting every other day. They have yet to succeed in finding one that agrees with all of their requirements, but they seem hopeful. Gray just wants them to stop arguing about who pays the electricity, wi-fi, water, groceries, rent, or whatever else they can come up with.

"Like how you're a growing boy who needs rest at night," she says. "And I don't want you getting used to hurting people or being injured."

She sits down on the edge of Gray's bed, and he clambers into her lap and rests his head against her heart. He likes the beat of it, steady and sure. Mother wraps her arms around him, rests her chin on the top of his head.

"Or animals?" he asks.

"Or animals."

Gray rubs against one of the band-aids with the pad of his thumb. His hands are a sorry sight that's starting to make him feel a bit forlorn. "Are you very angry with me?" he asks. Even to his own ears, the question sounds small and vulnerable.

"No. Just … confused, I guess. Why did you kill a bird?"

Her voice is gentle as she rubs circles into his back. Careful.

Why?

Gray shrugs. "I don't know." More desperately, he asks, "Was it wrong?"

"Yes. You shouldn't hurt others, Gray."

"Why?" And he cringes as he hears the petulance in his own voice. Burying his face into Mother's shoulder is a luxury he can afford now, and he takes full advantage of it as he hides his own embarrassment. "Father hurts a lot of people."

Father hurt her.

She stills completely for a moment, her heart stuttering before she takes in a deep breath and starts rocking them back and forth slightly.

"…And is your father right to do so?"

Gray squeezes his eyes shut even as he shakes his head vehemently.

"Harming others is never right, Gray," she murmurs, chin resting on his head. "Especially when they've done no wrong."

He thinks about that, and decides to hold out judgment on that new information. Of course, in terms of ethics, such an idea is not _new_ , but in application to his own life…

Killing Father would save so many lives. It might even save the world. It would avenge Mother and ensure that he would never harm her again. She would never have to live in fear of him. So, hurting people can't _never_ be right.

He listens to the rhythm of her heart and breathes in her scent. He can pick it up now, and it is a soothing balm to troubled thoughts. Perhaps someday, it will sink so deeply into his skin that it will take days to remove, much like the way Jason's has with them.

"I love you," he says idly, feels her arms squeeze him in what he has learned is affection.

"I love you too, Gray."

,

Someday, Gray knows, he will return to the Lazarus Pit. Not for as long as Mother lives, but someday. It's a foregone conclusion, a fact of nature. It calls to him, and he does not know what will come when he answers it.

On one hand, maybe nothing. On the other – in the absolute worst case scenario – maybe the world will end.

He doesn't know. And for now, he isn't interested in risking it.

He's not _that_ curious.

Mother hums contentedly to the tune on the radio, just a little bit out of tune as she carries up the boxes from the car. Their new place is a lot bigger and allows them all their own spaces, even if the idea of sleeping so far apart from Mother is absolutely absurd.

But having his own room sounds appealing in a lot of ways. Having the option to retreat is nice, at least. Gray will stop missing Jason's old apartment eventually.

Gray carefully sets a box down, keeps Mother in the corner of his eye as he looks out on the windows. The sun is dipping slowly into the horizon, and farther away from their new building, the city is alive.

Mother's scent grows stronger every day, and he breathes it in, relishing it and all that it means for her. She's also started convincing Jason to try and get his GED with her, and while he'd laughed out loud the last time he heard them talking about it, there had been a trace of seriousness that had satisfied her enough to smile along with him.

As Gray sorts their things from Jason's and Mothers previous apartments into different piles, he listens for the sounds down small hallway where Jason has been delegated to setting up what's supposed to be their new furniture from Ikea.

"Injured people shouldn't lift heavy things," Mother had told him loftily, that steely edge in her eye creeping in whenever she finds out that Jason's more injured than he previously let on. Gray isn't entirely sure why he tries hiding those sorts of things – she always finds out, anyways – but he figures all adults are a little weird in their own ways, and this is Jason's version of it.

He'd snarked back something unremarkable at her, and she'd rolled her eyes good naturedly at Gray as if asking _can you believe this guy?_

He'd smiled at the two of them and shrugged.

Through the window, a shadow of movement catches his eye. Gray strolls casually towards the window, betraying nothing in particular to Mother as she sorts through the small pile of boxes. He looks out and sees–

A small glint of light from a distant rooftop, reflected from the sunset. A flutter of _something_ , the weight of eyes.

Father is checking in on them.

The Lazarus Pit is alive in Gray's blood and it burns, but he's been learning so much from Mother and Jason, and he suspects that this might not be that Lazarus Pit after all. This familiar feeling that strikes whenever Father is physically near, that he once thought was a reminder of where he truly comes from – the monster that he is…

He suspects it might be rage. Disgust.

Fear.

It's a chemical mixture of negative emotions, and as he observes the setup from so far away, he knows deep in his heart that Mother is not always right. Which, he supposes, is a reasonable conclusion: there's always something someone is wrong about.

 _It's our job to protect you, not the other way around._

 _Harming others is never right_.

After another cursory glance, he steps away from the window. It won't do to scare away Father's informant, especially not with such a mild delivery. Gray thought he'd sent Father a very clear, very bloody message of what he thought about being kept in his care away from Mother all those months ago, but it seems it hadn't made as much of an impact as he thought.

Tricky though it will be, Gray resolves to send a reminder. The ninja on the rooftop should suffice.

Father can be stubborn, but if there's anything he's learned from him, it is patience.

"Gray, Jason's finished your dresser. Why don't you unpack your things?"

He turns to her, and for a long moment, just takes the time to look. It's long enough that she straightens up to return his gaze, upon which he scampers forward and tugs at her sweater to get her to bend closer to him.

"Gray?"

He kisses her cheek. When she blinks at him, he solemnly tells her, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Gray," is an almost automatic response these days, even when she's out of it.

Gray might not have known what to expect when he looked for Mother, but it certainly wasn't love.

He sorts his small collection of clothes into the dresser as he thinks on the best way to send Father's reminder to him. The ninja's eyeless head should be fairly appropriate. Best to give himself some room for escalation, after all.

Music from the radio floats cheerily through the door, and Gray finds himself humming along.

Pop can be so very catchy.

,

,

,

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So, um ... I've had this chapter for a while now. It's been sitting half-finished in my folder because I was honestly too afraid to go into how dark things really are between the lines. But it's been so long since I've published for this series that it kind of became a now-or-never sort of thing, haha

I see Gray as being as messed up as Damian was in the beginning, just in very different ways. This is also a different situation in which Gray _knows_ that Ra's is fundamentally wrong and he doesn't have the same competition for Thea's affection in the way that Damian felt towards everyone else. I ended up cutting out Gray's more psychotic lines, but ... yeah, having the Lazarus Pit literally be a part of him doesn't help much. I'm trying not to make the Pit some sort of magical thing, but ... well, it's really sort of is, and playing around with the concept is kind of fun.


	4. Sacrifice

_Nothing Will Harm You_

* * *

,

,

Thea stares at the ceiling.

Pale sunlight filters in through the curtain's cracks and gives the bedroom a hazy glow. Dust motes float idly by, visible only under the thin slivers of light. She listens to her breathing, feels her heartbeat and the warmth of the two bodies lying around her. She may have worried, just for a moment, that moving into a bigger apartment would mean their cuddle piles would come to an end, and the relief that hits her now, surrounded as she is by her Pack, is stronger than she expected.

Gray's head rests on her shoulder as he huddles into the curves of her body, while Jason sleeps with a few scant centimeters between them. He lies on his side, and she turns her head to look at him, at the way the soft light hits his face.

Jason's face was always obscured by a mask or some such, back in the day. Robin's domino, then the various helmets he's worn under the name of the Red Hood – and underneath those, the mask he always keeps on as an extra safety net. Aside from the handful of photos in the public domain and portraits in the manor, Thea had never really seen him.

He has a young man's face now – usually lined with concern or exhaustion, but it smoothens out when he isn't awake. Brownish red is starting to show at the roots of his hair before disappearing into the usual dyed black. He's so meticulous about that, about the color of his hair, but Thea does wonder what it would look like if he just … didn't.

Despite what he may think, Jason doesn't need to be anyone else.

But maybe she's biased.

Gray makes a soft sound, and she strokes his dark hair gently. It was strange waking up surrounding by her Pack like this the first time, but Gray seems to have taken the lack of any remarks, positive or negative, as encouragement for continuing to do so almost every other night. Jason ends up next to them less often, but whenever he does, he always maintains that careful distance, even in his sleep.

Did he used to take care of Catherine Todd like this? Is it why he's been so willing to take them in now? She watches him sleep and feels reassured by the proximity anyway. Thea listens to their breathing, smelling the scents all mixed together and yet somehow distinct, and falls back asleep.

,

Gray is strong.

Thea observes her son spar with Jason in one of his more spacious safehouses, and can't help but contrast his style with Damian's. Which might be a bit … unfair, considering how Talia had a tendency of murdering Damian's teachers once their usefulness was finished, but they were both taught by Ra's to some extent, and as she sits on the sidelines with her laptop balanced on her knees, curiosity begs her to watch.

Knowing Damian already, it's easier to pick out how much of Ra's influenced his fighting style. There's none of the showmanship or flair that's ingrained in Nightwing or even the Red Hood's movements – it's precise and incredibly technical. For all his grandeur and drama, Ra's would rather kill than fight.

Damian, for all that he was ten years old when he came to Bruce's doorstep, would have easily murdered Thea if she wasn't careful. He almost did, the first time they met.

Watching him now, she's sure Gray could have easily done the same if he wanted to.

Gray loses the first round, but demands a rematch after a quick glance at Thea. She's pretty sure he's trying to show off, which she doesn't quite know how to handle but can accept.

There are a lot of things she's learning to just accept and work with. Like how Bruce needs to be the one to draw up the fake certificates and adopt Gray. Although everyone agrees to the idea of posing Gray as the bastard son of her 'uncle', no court or caseworker will allow Thea to assume any sort of guardianship over him until she at least turns eighteen. And no one is sure if they have the time to wait for that. It's the best course of action, no matter that Bruce and Gray haven't even met yet, nor how Thea herself feels about it.

Gray hits a pressure point on Jason's arm and Thea winces. Gray is fast and skilled, but Jason is stronger and more experienced, and it was quickly revealed in the second match how willing they both are to fight dirty.

Thea's lips quirk upwards slightly as she drops her eyes down to the computer screen. Jason might win most of their matches, but Gray certainly makes him work for it.

Idly, she opens up the folder that made Damian cut her line a long time ago. The one that disappointed Dick.

She looks over the list and faces attached to their respective files and feels that familiar pang in her heart.

Would he have liked Gray? Would Gray have liked Dick? She likes to think yes, and she tries imagining the two of them sparring together instead of with Jason. It works for a moment – one beautiful moment – before she remembers Damian. She remembers Dick … choosing Damian. For Robin. Choosing not to approach Thea about it. She remembers him trying to have her committed and forcing her to run away from everyone who thought she was crazy for thinking Bruce might be alive.

They never did end up talking about that, and then it became too late. And now, Thea has nothing but the rest of her life to try and make peace with the closure they were never able to have.

She opens the Red Hood's file. Her finger hovers over the discard button.

Jason. Red Hood. The second Robin. Red Robin. Her Robin, the one she chased over rooftops at night while her parents were away. The one who tried to kill her multiple times in the past over a misconception of being replaced.

She was never his replacement. God, she could never even come close to being one even if she wanted to. Thea was Bruce's band-aid, at most.

Jason never did explain what changed. It's not that she isn't grateful – she'd be dead now if he hadn't stepped in, and who knows what would have happened to Gray if she died – but … it was still a huge leap from the dynamics of their old relationship.

What happened to Jason while she looked for Bruce? After she left Gotham?

She moves the cursor away from the delete button and instead marks his profile as a potential high risk.

A gleeful crow erupts from the center of the room, drawing Thea's attention back up to Gray and Jason's spar. Gray has somehow successfully managed to flip Jason onto his back on the mats and get him to stay down.

Thea closes the folder as her son who looks at her triumphantly, sweat gleaming on his forehead and soaking his clothes in dark patches.

She smiles. "Good job, Gray."

,

"Have you ever thought of quitting?"

"Quitting what?"

Thea and Jason sit on the couch, atop the cheap towel they've draped over the upholstery while she stitches together a particularly difficult area on his back. Turned away from her, Jason is spared the sight of her rolling of her eyes. She's not sure if it's the painkillers or familiarity that keeps him from flinching at the cold needle digging into his flesh, and what does that even say about them?

"You know what. Leaving the Mission."

He's quiet for a long time. The clock ticks, and if they breathe quietly enough, Thea can almost swear she hears Gray breathing as he sleeps in the bedroom.

Finally, he says, "No."

That's … a bit surprising. "Not even once?"

He shakes his head. "I'm the one who convinced B to let me be Robin. I _wanted_ to get into this … and then I died. Next thing I know, I'm swimming out of the Lazarus Pit, and the crazy is in my head and all I'm thinking about is getting revenge. Defending the people Batman's code doesn't really save."

It takes a few more minutes to talk again, but when he does, he says, quietly, "I wanted to get into literature. In college. I mean, yeah, I was Robin, but I had other interests, too, y'know?"

"Yeah." Even if no one ever said it, she's seen his books in the Manor library. "I think I do."

"Never wanted to quit, though."

Thea finishes stitches him up, and gently disinfects the area again. "Turn around." Then, she picks up a half-finished roll of bandages to wrap around his abdomen. Jason's shirt is off, and she can see the full extent of the damage. She's too used to having nights like these to wince, but she certainly empathizes with Alfred more than before.

Jason catches her hands as she ties the knot together, and it's the slur of blood loss and medication in his words that keeps her from jerking away at the sudden movement. "So, when's the little Red Robin flying out of the nest again?"

This time, she makes sure he can see her roll her eyes. "I think I've made myself clear on that topic."

"But you didn't really mean it, did you? I mean… you're gonna get your accreditation in a few months, and then go off to college, but after that–"

"After that, I'll get a solid job and raise Gray with you – if you still want to stay," she adds uncertainly. "I know four years is a long time, and if you find someone else or – or decide you want something else, I'd understand–"

"I'm not going anywhere, baby bird."

Her cheeks heat slightly at that strange moniker. She doesn't even know where he got it. "Okay. I – okay."

He's still holding Thea's hands, and he gazes at her, something quiet and contemplative as he regards her from half-lidded eyes. He's slumped against the back of the couch, but he's still very near her. She smells the cigarettes blending with his breath and scent when he says, "You're really not coming back?"

"I'm not."

"Y're givin' it all up for your pup?"

She returns his gaze. "Yeah."

Jason's expression turns overly touched, and she doesn't know what to do with that. He drags her closer to him, and she lurches forward awkwardly. It is far too late at night for this kind of strangeness. This close to one another, she can see the green speckles nestled in the blue of his eyes. Green like Gray's are, and she feels a small rush of affection.

"You're a good mom," he says. And even if he's saying it in the midst of blood loss and painkillers, she smiles.

"Thanks."

He lets her go then, slumping even further down the couch. Before she can tell him to be careful of the stitches, he mumbles, "Wish my parents gave up something for me."

Thea's throat constricts. "Yeah," she says tightly. "Me, too."

,

It's impossible to know what kind of person Thea would have grown into if she'd never become Robin. There are too many events, too much trauma and joy interspersed through the handful of years since she forced herself into Bruce's life to figure out something that complex.

Could she have been an artist? An inventor? An engineer? The youngest CEO of her time as the head of Drake Industries instead of WE? She doesn't even know what kind of person she is _now_. Wondering about a girl who would've led such a radically different life is just an exercise of futility.

But when the call comes in at two in the morning on the emergency line, Thea wishes to God she'd stayed as far away from all this as humanly possible.

"Why can't I come with you?" Gray, who'd been fast asleep at her side when the alert came in, is indignant at the prospect of being left behind. Right now, Thea doesn't care. "I can help!"

"I don't want you to help me with this," Thea snaps. "This isn't something… God, Gray, please, just _stay here_. I'll be back before lunch."

Thea can imagine all too easily what kind of injuries Jason might have to warrant an emergency call in the dead of night. That doesn't mean she wants to subject her own child to the sight of it, too.

It still surprises her how strong his grip can be when he holds onto something. He grabs her wrist and looks up at her pleadingly. "Don't leave me."

Her heart clenches. She remembers her parents, and her own loneliness. Has it really only been five years since her entire life changed?

But this isn't quite the same.

"Sweetheart…" She goes down on one knee. Her hair is a wild mess, her clothes practically just thrown on, but she puts a palm against his cheek. "Jason and I will be fine, and we'll both be back before lunch. There's nothing dangerous going on. He just … Jason needs a little help patching up." She raises her eyebrows a little, trying to look even just a little hopeful. "Okay?"

"Okay," Gray whispers.

She kisses his forehead. "Thank you. Go back to sleep, baby, I'll be here before you know it."

This particular safehouse Jason has taken refuge in is one of the farther ones from the apartment, but the lateness makes Thea drive more carefully than usual. Red Robin would have broken the speed limit to reach an injured ally, but Thea would rather not get into an accident herself.

She parks a few blocks from the building and runs the rest of the way, towards Jason's signal. The security system has already been bypassed, and she doesn't hesitate from practically crashing through the door.

"Jason!"

His unconscious body is sagged against the wall, blood streaked on the floor. The smell of it mixed with gunpowder and leather is as familiar as it is nauseating, but Thea locks the door behind her. Her mouth presses into a grim line as she sheds her jacket. She picks him up awkwardly – he's too big to really fit in her arms, but she doesn't think throwing him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes will be any good for of his injuries either. It takes some doing, but she manages to settle him on an empty table.

She's never been in this safehouse before, and she takes a minute to look around. It's an undecorated studio apartment, from what she can see, too small for the three of them to reasonably fit into even if they tried. There are medical supplies and weapons hidden in the cabinets, along with a few crackers and some canned food. Thea grabs all the medical kits she can find and looks inside them. Some hold basic tools and treatments while others contain surgical equipment.

Thea looks at Jason again. Something like a chainsaw cut through his chest armor and into his flesh, and there are severe burns on his side and hands. There might be a few bullet wounds, too, but it's too early to tell.

She takes in a deep breath, trying, somehow, to channel Alfred.

"Jason!" She shakes him gently, doing her best not to irritate his injuries. He groans and stirs slightly. Good. "Jason, listen to me. I need you to take your armor off so I can treat you."

He doesn't answer, but his hands fumble at whatever trigger mechanism or fasteners he uses to keep it on. Thea pries at the edges and drops the armor to the floor as soon as it's released. The broken red helmet drops onto the floor as well.

"Someone really fucked you up this time," she murmurs. Thank God she didn't take Gray along. Thea never wants him to see Jason like _this_ – bleeding, burned and bloodied. She clears her throat. "Okay, this is … this is going hurt, Jason. But I need you to _not fight me_."

There are sedatives in the med kits, but if she's going to save his life, she'll have to start before they can take full effect.

Never mind. She can't think about that now.

Jason's been in more pain than this before. He can cope. They've all had to before. The thought keeps her hands steady as she digs bullets out of his shoulder and chest, as she stitches him back together, cleans and wraps him up in bandages. The scars will be big and ugly, but he'll live.

It's well into the morning by the time Thea is done. She collapses on the chair once she realizes her idiot vigilante of an adopted brother won't die in the next few minutes, and nods off, only to be awakened seemingly a few seconds later by a shrill ringtone.

It's _her_ shrill ringtone.

But who would be–?

Her eyes fly open.

Fuck. _Gray_.

She bolts out of the chair and grabs her jacket off the floor, fumbling as she gets the phone out of the pocket.

" _Mother?"_

"Gray! Are you alright?"

" _You haven't come back_."

Thea checks the time. Shit, it's almost one o'clock. "Oh… um…" She looks over at Jason's still unconscious form. He's still deeply asleep, and he'll need more pain medication in a little while. Can she even move him out of here? His hands are completely bandaged up to his forearms, and his chest wound… It's not as if those are his only injuries, either.

" _Mother?"_

She licks her lips nervously, eyes locked onto Jason. At least his rest seems peaceful. "I'll be there in an hour, okay? Just order some takeout – you know where the cash is."

There's a huff on the other end. _"Is he okay?"_

"He's alive. He'll be fine in a few weeks, probably."

" _Probably?"_

Thea sighs. "I don't know, Gray. I did my best, but I'm not a doctor. If there are any complications, we'll have to take him to a hospital." Which will surely bring the media down on them once the doctors start asking questions.

"I love you, Gray. Thank you for waiting for me."

"… _I love you, too, Mother."_

For a long time after they hang up, Thea just stands there, staring at Jason's broken body.

,

After everything that's happened, after all their training, sneaking Jason into their new apartment isn't all that hard. Even if she does resort to coming in through the roof instead of the building's normal entrance. No one in New York really cares anyway, especially not if you look like you know what you're doing.

Gray is quiet as he helps her settle Jason into his bed, but Thea doesn't quite know how to break the silence besides giving him something to do.

Almost as if he was waiting for the exact moment both their backs were turned, Jason wakes up and thinks that trying to walk is a good idea for some reason. He manages to take a few steps away from the bed before just collapsing on the floor.

"You. Are. _Injured_ , you absolute moron," Thea hisses in his ear as she and Gray carefully drag him back onto the bed. She tries administering another sedative to dull the pain, but Jason waves her off. Understandably, he doesn't like drugs or being drugged, but Thea has to swallow down a blinding wave of fury as he does. "You have lost _way too much blood_ to try this shit."

Oh, what the hell? He'll be the one suffering through the pain anyway.

Later, after the skies have grown dark, Thea drags one of the dining table chairs to the bedside so she can keep watch over him in case something happens. She'll probably only need to do this for the first week or so, once she's sure there's no risk of a sudden infection. Gray stays up with her for a while, but she eventually waves him off so he can rest.

The bedroom is illuminated only by the dim glow of her laptop screen. She's already gone through the recent local news – the warehouse explosion the Red Hood was supposedly involved in made headlines – and she's settled into scrolling through old photos. There are quite a few albums, arranged by year, coming to an abrupt stop a few weeks before Bruce was lost in time. Then, it jumps forward to a few days ago, after she, Gray, and Jason cleared out her old apartment.

She burns Jason's easy grin into her mind, memorizes the lines of his tired face, the warmth of it. She'll never forget what this moment looks like, even if she goes blind.

"Thea?"

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"So are you."

"I'm not the one who's injured."

"You sound pissed."

Her eyes move slowly off the screen and onto Jason's dimly lit face. She can't quite decipher his expression. She's not sure she wants to. "What if I am?"

Jason sighs, wincing as he does.

"You could have died," she says, flatly. And she can't bear to look at him while she does. "I saw the news. The police reports. You could have died last night. So easily, while we were asleep."

"It's part of the job."

Thea's eyes close. "I know."

"Hey…" She hears rustling, and when she looks, she sees he's straightened up slightly against the headboard. "What's going on in your head?"

"What would we have done if you'd died," she whispers. Like it's a secret, just for them. Their deepest, darkest fears. Or maybe just hers. "We … wouldn't have been able to do anything. We wouldn't even find out until the newspapers reported it. We might not even have been able to find your body. We wouldn't be able to claim it legally even if we did."

"Thea…"

A shuddering breath escapes her. "How would I even explain something like that to Gray? That you'd left us? That you'd died? _Again_. God, how would I have explained that to _Bruce_? And I just know that you'll try going out again in a few days instead staying in until you're healed."

"What exactly do you want me to tell you, Thea?" Jason just sounds tired. He probably is. This … isn't the best time for them to have this sort of conversation. But if they don't have it now, when can it happen? Thea doesn't want to do this when Gray might hear them. "That you're right? That I'm exactly like Bruce?"

"I don't want this to happen again."

"You know I can't promise you that."

Thea closes the laptop, and the darkness envelopes them completely. If neither of them talk, neither of them have to exist; their conversation doesn't have to exist. Not in the darkness.

"I don't want you to die."

"Thanks. I don't want to die, either." When she doesn't laugh, doesn't so much as move, he says, soberly, "You're really mad at me."

She doesn't answer.

"Look, what do you even want me to do? Quit?"

And … yes.

That's exactly what Thea wants him to do. She wants to take her whole pack and run as far away from the Mission as humanly possible. She wants Gray to go to school, she wants Jason and her to work in normal jobs that don't require them to put their lives on the line every single fucking night.

She wants that. She wants the normalcy. If not for herself, then for her son.

Thea imagines it: Gray in a cape. Just a child, and already taking down lunatics with weapons and murderers and supervillains. She imagines him dead, bloody and beaten for all his training and natural skill. Remembers what Damian looked like when he died, and sees in her mind's eye her son, so young and small in his place.

"Thea, I can't see… Are you crying?"

…Damn it.

"I can't do this without you, Jason," she whispers, fighting hard to keep control of herself. "I've told you before, and I just … I _can't_. But I will if I have to."

Slowly then, emotions building in his voice, he says, "Are you saying you'll _leave_ if I don't quit?"

Thea swallows. "If I have to."

"You don't … God, Thea, you don't have to do anything. You don't have to _leave_."

"Like hell I don't!" It comes out louder than she meant it to, and she lowers her voice again immediately. "You don't think I've seen this before? I had a life outside of Robin when I first started. That disappeared when my parents died. When my friends died. When everyone thought Bruce was dead, I turned into Red Robin. If he sees you die…"

"You're afraid it will turn him into a vigilante?"

" _Yes_."

"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you that he already hates Ra's enough to do that even _without_ witnessing the tragic death of a parental figure."

"He doesn't have to… that doesn't… No, I-I can't lose Gray to this. He can't do what we did, Jason. That's … that's one of the reasons why you hated me, right?" she adds desperately. "You hated that Bruce dragged another person into his war on crime?"

"That's not your choice to make, Thea."

"I know, I _know_ it's not, but if I can just get him away from all this for a few years. Just for a little while." Gray is still so young, they still have _time_. There are other ways to live, better ones, she's sure.

"And, what? Do you think world-ending events will just stop happening wherever you go, or that you won't be affected by them? Or that there's a place Ra's doesn't have influence over?" Jason's voice is growing angry, and she's glad she doesn't have to see his face. "There's a reason why we do things. Yeah, it's wrong for Bruce to bring kids into this, but you can't run off with Gray and pretend everything's fine. You were _Robin_. That's something that never really leaves you."

Thea shakes her head stubbornly. "No. That's not true, I won't sacrifice Gray's future because I was Robin for a few years. I got myself into this, and I can get myself out."

" _Can you_?" Jason hisses. "Do you know what Gray told me once? He told me he'd murder Ra's one day. Your sweet little kid made an oath of vengeance on his own _dad_ , I'd say it's a little too late to get him out of this."

"I…" Her heart sinks. "He told you that?"

"He did, and I think he really will try it once he thinks he's strong enough."

"No … no, I – there's still time. He doesn't have to – _no_!"

"Do you really think Ra's will leave you alone? Do you think you can fight him off if he tries to get to you?"

"Why are you being like this?" asks Thea furiously. "I thought you would be happy for us to get away from – from _this_! From danger."

"I _don't_ want you in danger but running away from your problems is not the answer. You think that moving away from me and Bruce and everyone connected to Batman will make everything okay, but it _won't_. That's not how it works. Ra's is still out there, and the world will be in danger at least twice a year, so if you want to protect Gray, don't – don't close your eyes to what's happening. You don't have to be involved, but don't pretend the problem isn't fucking _there_."

"I'm _not_ , that's not the point! You just don't want to stop being the Red Hood!"

"What I do is important–!"

"It's illegal!"

"Well, I didn't see you giving a shit about it when you were _stealing my alias_."

"Forgive me for trying to find Bruce when _all of you_ thought he was dead."

"Tell me, Thea, how many people did you kill while you were travelling the world? Five? Ten? Did you put that in the report you gave Bruce, or were you too afraid he'd–"

" _Shut up!_ Shut up, shut up, just _shut up_ , you asshole! You don't know anything about what happened back then."

"Mother? Jason?"

Even in the dark, they freeze. The light comes on, and Gray looks at them with wide eyes. His hair and clothes are still ruffled and rumpled from sleep.

He smells … _afraid_.

And suddenly, the room is too small, and she can't stand Jason's presence or scent or voice. A rush of shame washes over her as she realizes she can't stand Gray's, either.

So, she runs. Out of the room, out of the apartment. She abandons her son – and finds herself on the roof of the building.

It's dark, but never too dark in New York. She can see lights in the distance, hear the sounds of people and cars passing through a few streets away. The impatient blare of a horn.

Thea gasps in the polluted air and bends over, hands on her knees as she tries to just get a _grip_.

"What do I do?!" she screams hoarsely at the dark sky. "What do I fucking _do_?"

God, she just wants her mom.

She falls to her knees, still holding herself. Get a grip, get a grip god damnit. She can't be like this around Gray, she can't … she has to be strong. She can't clock out every single fucking time something happens, or if there's a bad day.

 _Better_ , she thinks. _I need to get better_.

But what _is_ 'better', really? What does it look like? How would she know? She's been surrounded by emotionally damaged and distant people all her life, so how the hell would she know what that sort of thing should even be?

She doesn't know what to do – about herself or Gray or Bruce of Ra's. There are no right or good answers that she can see, only less terrible ones. She thinks about the looming specter that is Gray's father, and the long, dark shadow of Batman and his never-ending war. It's as if she can see their future now, hers and Gray's. The real one that she's tried so hard not to face.

There was never any hope of living a long, happy life for them.

She threw that away when she was twelve years old.

,

"I'm sorry."

Thea isn't entirely sure of how much time passes before they find her curled up on the roof. She watches dispassionately through half-lidded eyes from where she's lying on the concrete as her son helps Jason shuffle towards her. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, Gray carefully helps Jason sit on the ground before swiftly exiting the roof, leaving the two of them in peace.

Sort-of peace.

It's quiet for a while, at least, and Thea watches as Jason's face goes through a few complicated expressions.

And the first thing out of his mouth is an apology.

"It was uncalled for," he continues. "And I … if you think Gray would be safer away from all of this, then you're perfectly within your rights to leave."

Thea closes her eyes and breathes.

"Please say something."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"Thea…"

"Dick wasn't my Robin," Thea says. When Jason doesn't make a sound, not even a shuffle, she cracks her eyelids open and sees him watching her intently. Listening. "Dick was my brother, but he wasn't my Robin," she says one more time before adding, "You were.

"You were the Robin I followed around Gotham at night. You were the Robin in my pictures. You were the Robin I tried to live up to for so long.

"And you _hated_ me."

She sees Jason wince, sees him open his mouth to speak, but she can't take another apology, so she barrels on. "When I wore Red Robin, it was because no one believed me. It was because I needed to do things Robin couldn't. I wore it because I had something to prove."

She shivers and hugs herself. The concrete is cold and unforgiving beneath her. "I'm _tired_ , Jason. I'm so fucking tired, and I'm _scared,_ and I'm tired of being scared."

Her eyes fall shut again when Jason reaches out and carefully strokes her hair back. His scent is familiar and soothing despite the underlying tinge of blood and smoke. She curls up tighter, whimpering softly.

"I don't know what to do," she whispers. "I have a child more than half my age, and the world never stops ending, and I _don't know what to do_."

"Neither do I," Jason admits after a long silence. "But as your son very helpfully reminded me after you ran out, that I promised I'd protect you no matter what … I guess I'll be doing that."

A watery laugh escapes Thea. Count on Gray to give Jason a dressing down after _that_ scene. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Jason says, slowly, "That you're – right. I guess. I can't be the Red Hood _and_ protect you and Gray. Not when being the Red Hood constantly puts my life at risk, and possibly places targets on your back if I'm ever found out.

"It means that I can't keep going on being legally dead, not if I want to be seen with you in public. It means that if you can't keep living like this, then neither can I."

Thea's breath catches. "You'd … give up the Red Hood?" For her?

"Not entirely," Jason says. "You gotta remember that Ra's still is out there, and I don't want to be a sitting duck when he decides to make a move. But I can … I can cut down on patrols. I'll ask Bruce to fix my papers – Jesus Christ, _that's_ gonna be a circus – and … we'll see where the three of us can go from there. Okay?"

"Okay." Thea closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her face. "Okay."

He reaches out, gently laying his injured hand atop hers, and she feels the bandages against her palm. The future stretches out before them, dark and unwelcoming as ever before, and she focuses on the weight of his hand, drinking in the presence of this Alpha who knows her and her son and is here despite it. Who has been beaten to death, manipulated, and traumatized to an extent most people might say would be beyond repair – but who is sitting out on a cold rooftop next to her anyways.

Her lips form the words she cannot give voice to, that she exhales in a single breath.

 _Thank you_.

,

 _[Profile: Red Hood]_

 _-Delete_

 _[Confirm delete file? This will permanently erase all records.]_

 _-Yes_

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,

,

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This is ... gosh, this is the last chapter of _Nothing Will harm You_. For now, at least. I guess I'm getting a little impatient; I want to start the next arc so badly. Maybe I'll add a 5th chapter to this someday, but regarding their time in New York, I think I've said all I've wanted to say.

Catch you in the next installment! (title still pending)


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